Month: January 2006

I am on a break. I know that I’m at my desk, and not in the break room. I don’t feel like sitting in the break area, because, as cold as it can get at my desk, it’s even colder in the “kitchen”.

You can tell that I’m on a break, however, because there is food on my desk, and my blog is unabashedly open on my computer screen. Since you’ve declared that I must only check my personal email and my blog when I’m on a designated break, I am multi-tasking, both chewing and typing at the same time.

Now is not the appropriate time to come over, lay some work on my desk, and start a discussion about it. It’s definitely not a good time to pull me into a conversation with our co-worker who shares my cube wall about what you want me to do. I have food in my mouth.

Also, if you eat into my eating time, does that mean I get to blog as I please at other times?

Please remove yourself from my desk area, while I am attempting to digest.

So, I think I’ve mentioned before that no one should tell my mother that I’ve been riding on the back of Gertrude. This is a serious request. You really should not tell her. She has made herself perfectly clear. She’s said from day one that I mentioned this J4 character that has no car, and only rides a motorcycle, that I am to stay off of the motorcycle. I mentioned that I still would like to have a Vespa, and she still seemed to accept that, but for whatever reason, she’s not down with the motorcycle. Yet, at least three times today, she “reminded me” to stay off of the motorcycle. I tried to tell her, and she said, “You better not be!”

But, here’s the thing, she’s got to know.I mean, how can she really expect me not to?I mean, it’s San Francisco, a city that was not designed for automobiles.There are large portions of our fair city that cannot be appreciated in a car.I don’t really see it as an “alternative transportation” when it really is much more convenient to the life we live here.We can hop on Gertrude and go to North Beach, China Town, the Haight, or wherever, without thinking twice about where we’ll park her.There are a lot of motorcycle only parking areas, and even when there’s not, we can slide in between cars or onto the sidewalk.

That being said, there’s no way that I’ll ever go to the extreme that J4 has, and get rid of Keiko.I’ve seen that there are advantages to both, the car and the motorcycle.The other day, while I was on my “lunch” break, I crawled into the back seat with a blanket and knocked out for about half an hour.I couldn’t do that with a scooter or a motorcycle.Also, the car has climate control.We went down to San Jose on Friday night, and I would have been miserable on the back of the bike.Also, you can’t ride a motorcycle in a skirt.

So, I maintain that Mommy knows that “The Baby” is slowly turning into a “biker babe” but she won’t hear it from my mouth.You know what they say, it won’t hurt her.I would tell her.I’m not in the habit of lying, and I’m not trying to be rebellious.It just makes sense.Plus, it’s kind of fun.

I tried to resist the urge to follow in his footsteps.Its been a long time since one of my cars had a name.Its not like I could deny ever having done this myself; theres actually people on my friends list that rode in The Sh*tMobile.(Seriously, in a weird way, I miss that car.Nothing quite like a four door, 85 Ford Escort, with a luggage rack.)Regardless, though, I didn’t want to get that attached.I mean, Ive been burned before.That Cavalier really broke my heart; she left in a hurry.And when she died me, all she left me was a loan.

But, despite all my misgivings, and my desire to prove to the world that J4 and I are not as “cute” as they say, I have finally succumbed and have named my Honda.

So, it is with much pride that I introduce to the world, my bundle of joy, my four doored, silver, fuel efficient little dynamo, Keiko.

Okay, so every day I go to work, and work is in a converted warehouse in the Dogpatch.(More info on Dogpatch: http://baseportal.com/cgi-bin/baseportal.pl?htx=/zpub2000/sfentries&cmd=list&range=0,50&Title~=D&cmd=all&Id=215)Theres no heat.There just isnt.I have a little space heater, but since the power is pretty much rigged together around here with chewing gum, if one of my neighbors in the cube farm turns on their space heaters while I have mine on, we blow the grid.And even with the heater on, were still in the warehouse with the 30 bazillion foot high ceilings, so the hot air disappears the second that its out of the fan.So, I spend the better part of the day shivering and chugging hot tea.Hot tea, of course, quickly becomes iced tea around here.I own a pair of gloves with the fingertips cut off, my hobo gloves, because I need to type but I also need to be wearing gloves.

So, I shiver all day dreaming of a hot shower (with or without Red Stripe) and my warm bed.

Last night, however, I did not pass the shower, and collect $200, but instead ventured out to the Motherland (a.k.a. Concord, CA) for dinner with Rob and Jen.I decided to invite J4, as well.J4 prefers his mode of transportation much more than mine, so we hopped on Gertrude (yes, he names his motorcycles), and off we rode.(DONT TELL MY MOM!)This proved to be a fatal decision.To say that I was cold when we got home would be the biggest understatement ever known to man kind.(For another perspective: http://blog.myspace.com/motoproponent) The only way I managed to finally thaw out was to take a hot shower.

The end result of all this freezing is that my skin is rebelling.My knuckles are chapped, cracked, bloody, and peeling.To add to this problem, I drink so much tea to keep warm that I have to keep going to the bathroom, and have to keep washing my hands with the cheap soap they provide us.(I should bring my own.)And as of yesterday, I have discovered that there is a rash spreading across my back.I truly am allergic to this weather.

I am in desperate need of a vacation to some place very warm.I mean, I’d much rather be having a Red Stripe on the beach than in my shower, any day.

So, I thought that right about now, I’d have the uncontrolable need to listen to The Slacker’s Wasted Days on perma-repeat. But, I guess I was completely wrong, wrong about him, wrong about me, etc. In fact, I feel more normal now than I have in weeks. Everything is A-O-K! The sun is shining . . . sort of.

Today, someone was praising me for being so low maintenance, particularly in regards to my hair.

That’s the most ridiculous thing that I have heard this year.

I am anything but low maintenance when it comes to my hair, really. I spend an obscene amount of money on my hair. Obscene! My hairdresser is not cheap. No SuperCuts for me. No. I go see Dave, Mr. Wonder-Hair-Dude. Cut and color every eight weeks. Don’t even get me started on product. Next month, Dave’s going to pick me up a new hair dryer, $80 wholesale. I also spend an inordinate amount of time “doing” my hair. When you add up washing, conditioning, drying, ironing, clipping, tying, braiding, and what not. Also, you can’t forget the time I spend futzing: the readjusting, re-tying, smoothing, pulling, twisting, tucking, etc. Does that sound low maintenance to you?

So, yeah, this guy starts going off about how great he thinks it is that I left the house without doing anything to my hair. And I’m floored!

After all is said and done, all of that is apparently for naught, and I still walk out the door looking unkempt.